


Peter Parker Was Sixteen

by vedaine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, No Underage Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Requited Love, Romance, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vedaine/pseuds/vedaine
Summary: Peter Parker was sixteen when he realized he was in love with Tony Stark. Now all that needed to be done was to make Tony Stark realize he loved Peter Parker back.





	Peter Parker Was Sixteen

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of insomnia and a few hours on my phone. I’m not the biggest Tony/Peter shipper—I tend more towards the father-figure-Tony trope—and there isn’t a bunch of character development here, so both Tony and Peter are probably pretty OOC. But there’s only so much you can do when it’s the middle of the night and you can’t get an idea out of your head. Meant to be read as romantic/the realization that they’re soulmates rather than creepy, but I realize a 17-year-old seducing an older man can be read the other way.
> 
> Note: Peter is seventeen (legal age of consent in New York) before any non-platonic relationship between him and Tony begins.
> 
> Rated M for language, mention of past non-con, and under-18 relationship. Contains no sexual content.

Peter Parker was sixteen when his aunt May died. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. There was nothing that even Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, could do other than make her last few days comfortable.

Peter was sixteen when he went to live at the Avengers’ compound upstate. May had signed paperwork making Tony Peter’s legal guardian when she died, to no one’s surprise. Because Midtown was over an hour away, Peter ended up just graduating high school early and decided to work for Stark Industries for a few years before going to college.

And Peter was sixteen when he realized he was in love with Tony Stark.

 

* * *

 

Upstate New York wasn’t a great home base for a superhero like Spider-Man, who always relied on the tall buildings of New York City to anchor his webs. He was thankful that Tony took him patrolling in New York at least once a week. If anyone in the city thought anything of Iron Man and Spider-Man teaming up, they didn’t say anything.

But at the compound, Peter was bored. With no school work and no friends nearby, there wasn’t much to do other than tinker in the labs and follow Tony around. Which is how he found himself spending almost all his time with Tony—or watching the inventor from afar.

When May had transferred guardianship over to Tony, it had been because she’d assumed he was more of a mentor and father-figure to Peter than anything else. And, yes, Tony was a mentor. But he was also a friend, and a confidant. A man who lifted Peter up when he was sad, who laughed at Peter’s dumb science puns, who made pancakes for dinner when they’d had a long day.

A man who… oh shit. A man Peter was in love with.

 

* * *

 

And so Peter put into motion a plan. A plan to get Tony to notice him as more than a boy. A plan for Tony to realize that they were made for each other, that a romantic relationship was the next logical step for them.

Phase one: physical seduction.

Peter had a nice body. He knew it. Tony knew it. But did Tony truly appreciate it? Peter didn’t know.

So he went online and, using the unlimited credit card Tony had given him, went on a shopping spree. Clothes were the main thing on the list. He wasn’t sure what Tony liked, but he knew the older man was experienced, and likely had a great range of interests. So Peter got a little bit of everything that could possibly be construed as sexy.

Swimsuits for laying around the pool working on his tan, in tight square-leg cuts. Tank tops and sleeveless shirts that showed off his muscles. Tight cropped tops with sexual innuendos on them. Jeans so tight you could see the outline of his junk through them. And thongs, which peeked out of the back of the jeans. He briefly considered some fetishwear, but wasn’t comfortable enough with that.

When the packages arrived, Peter balked as he tried it on. He ended up sending most of it back, keeping only the swimsuits and tank tops. That would have to be enough, he reasoned. Besides, he could always just walk around shirtless in his boxers; it was his home, after all.

And yes, Tony definitely noticed. Tony stared, sometimes too long, at the lean but muscular teenager walking around the compound. At the way the tiny swimsuits hugged the curves of his ass. At the tight-fitted tank tops (that still had science puns on them—hey, it was Peter after all).

 

* * *

 

The second part of the plan was to let Tony know that it wasn’t just physically that Peter wanted him. Heck, it was mainly romantically that Peter wanted Tony anyway. It was love, not lust. But that was the harder part, because it involved words. Since Peter had a terrible habit of stuttering and putting his entire foot in his mouth when speaking, he decided love letters were the best course of action. Being a huge nerd, he spent a month biding his time, reading every book and Cosmo article on the topic he could find. Though he wouldn’t write any letters ahead of time—he wanted to write them in the moment, to capture what he was feeling at any one time. (Of course, Peter kept up his physical teasing as well—no need to let Tony forget about that in the meantime.)

Luckily, Tony started the conversation for him. After a month of the older man eye-drooling over Peter’s body, Tony decided he needed to confront the teen. He knew that Peter was dressing like this solely for Tony’s benefit and, while he was both flattered and wistful, he also knew he didn’t deserve Peter.

“Look, Pete,” Tony said, sighing. “I don’t know what kind of fucked-up hero-worshipping shit is going on here, but you’re sixteen. A minor, for fuck’s sake. I’m almost three times your age. My track record with relationships isn’t great, but even I know that I’m no good for you.”

Taking a deep breath, Peter started the speech he’d rehearsed so many times in his head. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Stark. My track record with relationships isn’t great either. No, shut up and let me say this. I’ve been in exactly one sexual relationship and two romantic relationships in my entire life. I watched my first girlfriend fall to her death because I wasn’t able to save her. My second girlfriend’s father tried to kill me and I put him in prison for life. And my only sexual relationship, well, not really a relationship. I was a kid, and I was repeatedly raped by a babysitter. Yeah, betcha didn’t know that one. As for family relationships? Fuck, Mr. Stark. I’ve been orphaned four-times over. I have only one friend, who I barely see anymore and who I keep in the dark about almost everything, because he is way too innocent and pure to be brought into the sick shit I deal with everyday. All the people I’ve seen die. All the people I wasn’t able to save. Tell me again, Tony. How exactly would a relationship with you not be an improvement on my life?”

“Pete…”

“So, sure. I’m sixteen. I’ll tell you something else: I haven’t been a kid in a very long time. But to ease your mind, you should know that I turn seventeen next Friday. The legal age of consent in New York. So take a week. Think on it. Get back to me. I know where I stand: I love you. I’m in love with you. Figure out where you stand and let me know.”

Peter ran a gentle hand along the side of Tony’s face with a small, sad smile and returned to his room, closing the door behind him. Tony sat down on the sofa, head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, a note was waiting for Tony. It was in a sealed envelope, laying on top of the coffee maker, where Peter was sure Tony would see it.

> I want to give you some space this week to think, so you probably won’t see me around. But I’ll leave you letters everyday, because there’s so much you need to know.
> 
> It’s not hero worship. It was never hero worship, at least not in the way you’re thinking.
> 
> Sure, Iron Man is a hero. Billionaire Tony Stark, inventor and philanthropist, is a hero too in his own way. But plain Tony, laughs at his own jokes, wears mismatched socks, doesn’t like waffles but loves pancakes? That’s my hero. Plain Tony, who claims to get insomnia but doesn’t want to tell others about the nightmares, whose PTSD doesn’t allow other people to hand things to him, whose anxiety has worn a circular groove in the floor around the kitchen from his late-night pacing? That’s my hero. Plain Tony, who I trust with my life, who always knows the right things to say when I’m feeling upset or lonely, who’s the only person who can talk me down from a panic attack?
> 
> That’s the Tony I love.

 

* * *

 

The second day, another letter was waiting for Tony in the same spot.

> I realized that the whole ‘I was raped’ thing might need a little explanation. Sorry for the bombshell—I could see the panic on your face. So let me start by saying this: I am okay.
> 
> I’ve never talked about it before, probably because I’ve never felt comfortable enough to talk about it before. Until you. And I know you’re probably thinking to yourself, ‘you don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,’ and that’s exactly why I think I’m ready to tell you.
> 
> I was 8, he was 17. He was my babysitter. And I was raped, almost weekly, for six months. Then his family moved away.
> 
> The point of telling you this is two-fold. One, to make sure you understand that I trust you, with every part of me. That I know you’ll never judge me, that you care for me in every word and action.
> 
> And two, to let you know that, for all intents and purposes, I am a virgin. And that I want you to be my first. I hope that doesn’t scare you off. Know that the reason I’ve stayed a virgin isn’t because of the rape—well, it is, but not in the way you might think. I haven’t avoided sex because I’m traumatized. Rather, it’s because the experience made me realize how special the act is intended to be. And I’ve never felt a deep enough connection to another person to offer myself up to.
> 
> Until you. Because I love you.

 

* * *

 

Another day, another letter. Tony started the coffee pot and sat at the kitchen island to read it with trembling hands.

> I don’t know if you knew this, but I’m pretty good at math. And I know you’re thinking that the age difference between us is too large. That I’m too young. That you’re too old. But I’ve thought about the age difference, and what it means for us, and how it affects the way in which we connect.
> 
> And I’ve done the math. You’re currently 46, and the current average life expectancy for men is just under 79 years old. That’s a difference of 33 years. Factor in your heart condition, and we can probably shave off another 5 years. Not trying to bring you face-to-face with your mortality, but this is important to know. But another factor in life expectancy is wealth, and access to technology. There are no hard numbers there, but I’d expect a man in your position to make it to 86, easily.
> 
> That’s 40 years, Mr. Stark. 40 years we could have together. And yes, before you ask. I’ll still love you when you’re 86, wrinkly and gray, probably gassy and cranky. I’ll love you til your dying day.
> 
> But that’s the other thing, Tony. In our line of work, every day, every routine patrol, every mission has the potential to be our last. We face danger every time we go out as Iron Man or Spider-Man. Our life could be 40 years together, or it could be 4 days. And either way, I’d be thankful that I was able to have that time with you.
> 
> That time with the man I love.

 

* * *

 

The fourth morning there was no letter waiting for Tony, just a tear-stained Post-It note.

> I love you.

That afternoon, Tony found a new letter waiting for him. It had been slipped under his bedroom door at some point during the day.

> Today is the anniversary of the plane crash that killed my parents. The first time I ever took a plane ride was to Berlin, at your request. And it was the scariest thing I’d ever done. Scarier than the spider bite. Scarier than watching my uncle Ben bleed out in front of me.
> 
> But I was brave, because I knew that you were waiting for me at the other end of the flight. And that you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.
> 
> I’ve still only been on a plane twice in my life—to Berlin, and then back home again. But I would be willing to travel the world, as long as I had you by my side.
> 
> Because, Tony Stark, I am in love with you, and I trust you more than anybody else in this world.

 

* * *

 

The fifth day, Peter’s letter was again waiting on the coffee maker when Tony woke up. This letter was much shorter.

> I have days where I love you so much it’s painful. Where my chest hurts when I see you. When I feel like dying imagining a world where you’re not in my life.

For the first time, Tony wrote back. He slipped the letter under Peter’s bedroom door, even though he was unsure if that was where the kid was still staying.

> Hey Pete.
> 
> Shit, I didn’t realize how hard writing a letter would be. How the fuck are you so eloquent? What the fuck are they teaching in schools these days? You’re like one of those fucking 1800’s civil war love letters from the frontline. Also, I can’t remember the last time I actually hand wrote anything, so I’m sorry about the shitty handwriting.
> 
> I just… fuck.
> 
> Don’t really have much to say except I’m reading your letters. And I’m listening.

 

* * *

 

Day six, Tony rushed towards the coffee maker. He tore open the envelope and began to read, not even bothering to start the coffee.

> For someone who seems so confident in public, you think too little of yourself. You brush off compliments but internalize every minor piece of criticism. And your willingness to better yourself is just one of the things I love about you, but you need to know how wonderful you are. You need to accept how wonderful you are.
> 
> You’re kind. God, Tony, you’re so kind it hurts. You took me in when I had no one else, and you gave me not just a place to live but a home. A family.
> 
> You’re smart, though you probably already knew that. But the way your brain works, finding connections that no one else could, isn’t just intelligence. It’s… an understanding of how the world works. Of how people work. Of how society works.
> 
> You’re brave. You’re brave when you risk your life as Iron Man, you’re brave when you face criticism in the press, and you’re brave when you deal with your PTSD and anxiety. You’re brave every time you go into the basement, or on the subway, or anywhere else underground.
> 
> And you’re hot. Don’t forget that, although out of all these things that’s probably the least important to me. I can’t promise that I’d love you if you looked like an absolute ogre, but I can’t say with certainty that I wouldn’t.
> 
> But most importantly, you’re mine. You’re my family, my friend, my mentor, my confidant. You’re the man I love.

 

* * *

 

The seventh day there was no letter waiting for Tony. But the coffee maker was already on, a hot pot waiting. Tony poured himself a mug and turned around, only to see Peter sitting at the kitchen island.

The teen was on a stool, with his knees up propped under his chin, arms circling his muscular calves, and bare feet perched on the edge of the stool to hold himself in that pose. He was wearing one of Tony’s old MIT sweatshirts—even though Tony was a small guy, Peter was swimming in the shirt. The collar was loose and slid down one shoulder, exposing his pale collarbone. The arms were too long, covering his thumbs and making it look like he had paws. A pair of gym shorts completed the ensemble. The entire effect made Peter look smaller and younger than he normally did.

His skin was pale and waxy, dark bags under his eyes. Patchy facial hair showed the boy hadn’t shaved in the past week. The oily hair plastered to his forehead made it look like he hadn’t showered either. He was gaunt, his cheeks hollow. Tony wondered whether the kid had even eaten since they’d last spoken. He’d respected the kid’s privacy and not checked FRIDAY’s video feed to keep track of Peter, but this made him slightly worried.

Peter was staring at his own mug of coffee on the counter, unmoving.

Tony sighed and sat in the stool next to Peter, placing his coffee down. He swiveled the stool to face the teen.

“Peter. Look at me.”

Slowly, Peter turned his head to his mentor—to the man he loved—and lifted his chin defiantly. “Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

Softly, Tony said, “Happy birthday.” He leaned forward and placed soft hands on either side of the teen’s face and slowly, to allow Peter time to stop him, captured the teen’s lips in a gentle kiss.

It was sweet, and pure, and chaste, and tasted like coffee. Tony pulled back with a slight nip at Peter’s bottom lip. Peter’s bottom lip, which was trembling with unsaid emotions. The older man pressed their foreheads together.

“Tony?” Peter whispered, voice wavering.

“I don’t ever want to go a week straight without seeing you. Without talking to you. Without telling you that I love you, more than anything in this world, more than anything I’ve ever loved. Fuck, kid. I don’t know how I even lived without you.”

“Tony,” Peter said again, leaning forward to kiss the man.

But Tony placed a hand on Peter’s chest to hold him back. Both men knew Peter could easily overpower Tony, what with his super powers, but the teen stayed back. He looked hurt—devastated.

“Two things,” Tony said, stroking Peter’s chest with his hand. Peter leaned into the touch. “One, we’re going to take this slow, and do it right. I don’t have a good track record with relationships, because I’ve never cared enough to try. But this… this I don’t want to fuck up. I can’t fuck up. Because I don’t think I could live with myself if I fucked this up.”

Peter moved a hand from his knees to cover Tony’s, tracing small patterns on the back of the older man’s hand. “And two?” he whispered.

“Two is that I’m pretty sure you haven’t showered or eaten in a week.” At Peter’s blush, Tony knew that he was right. “So you will go wash up. And take your time. And for God’s sake brush your teeth before I kiss you again. While you’re in the bathroom I’ll make breakfast. We can talk later—we’ve got the rest of our lives. For now, pancakes okay?”

All that Peter could manage was a nod. The teen was trembling, so Tony helped him stand from the stool. Impulsively, he wrapped the younger man in a hug, brushing his lips across Peter’s temple.

“I love you, Peter Parker. But you smell like ass.”

Peter let out a soft chuckle. “I know,” he said wetly. “I love you, Tony Stark. But I should probably go shower.” Reluctantly, he pulled away from the hug, took a moment to savor the look of love in Tony’s eyes, before heading to his bathroom. For he knew Tony Stark, the man Peter loved, would be waiting for him. He knew that Tony Stark, the man he loved, loved him back.

 

* * *

 

Peter Parker was sixteen when he realized he was in love with Tony Stark.

Peter Parker was seventeen when he knew for sure that Tony Stark loved him back.

Peter Parker was twenty-one when they went public with their relationship.

Peter Stark was twenty-three when he married Tony Stark, in a quiet ceremony attended only by a justice of the peace and two witnesses.

Peter Stark was sixty-two when Tony Stark passed away, holding his husband’s hand in the hospital.

And Peter Stark was eighty-seven when they finally reunited.


End file.
